


Can't Be Egg-nored

by Anonymous



Series: More Than You Can Chew [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ass Expansion, Breast Inflation, Deities, Extremely Dubious Consent, Force-Feeding, Inflation, Magical Punishment, Male Lactation, Male Solo, Mild cow transformation, Other, Stuffing, Things aren't properly explained ahead of time, This is a punishment, Weight Gain, expansion, mild mind manipulation, thanksgiving themed smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Horst spends quite a lot of the time in the new town soaking up as much attention as he can, even at the harvest shrine. Horst then finds out what sorts of creative punishments such a spirit designs for braggarts.Pick one food to eat, deal with the effects. Simple, right? And he can't miss the opportunity to try the eggnog.
Series: More Than You Can Chew [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854058
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44
Collections: Anonymous





	Can't Be Egg-nored

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one, and right on the day. Enjoy~

“Ah, harvest season. A time of bounty, plenty, and festivities! Such as our wonderful Night of Falling Leaves. Tell me, are you going to do anything special while you’re there?” The man speaking chuckled and continued to speak right over what anyone else in the small group would have said. “Of course I’ll be there. Can’t miss one of the most spectacular events. I’m sure the decorations will be just lovely. Ah! Did you know-”

And so it went on. The man, Horst, had never had an issue keeping people captivated. It became more difficult as time went on and he grew up, but he soon learned that if he was just confident he could be the star of the conversation.

Keeping people’s attention wasn’t only a necessity for him as a traveling bard and peddler of fine accessories, but it was also fun for him personally.

Watching the way people’s faces could slowly tip back and forth as they considered a proposal or price, seeing someone’s face scrunch up when they knew he was presenting facts they couldn’t deny, and the smiles and laughs he could get out of a crowd when he entertained with an upbeat song, all of it was addicting to him. He couldn’t get enough of the attention. It had turned out well for him too; He traveled across the country with no issues, always making a profit, and often making far more than even he expected.

Horst laughed to himself at the thought. Yes, he was lucky indeed. And the next day was the start of a week-long harvest festival in the township he was currently living in. He’d not been in the area before, but he’d learned it was quite a large and elaborate festival for the town and many surrounding farms. He expected he would make a lot of money entertaining throughout the week. Even the food would be to a high standard, since so many people brought the best of their batches to the celebrations.

Starting with that evening, the Night of Falling Leaves, it was going to be a fantastic week. From what he’d heard, it was basically a welcoming party for everyone arriving. Casual, but with food and entertainment through the evening and into the night of the waxing moon.

He prepped himself beforehand, and spent a lot of the hours leading up to the start of the festivities chatting up and charming the townsfolk. Hopefully it would give him an edge when other entertainers arrived. Horst had been hired for a few events already, and he hoped for more--it was part of the reason he was staying all week.

Once he’d canvassed most of the town, he found there was only one place left to look into before the starting toast: the small shrine at the edge of the nearby woods.

It didn’t have a name, or at least not one which stuck. Some folks had their own for it, such as Harvest Shrine, or Forest Shrine, or Shrine of Wilting Leaves, but most just called it the shrine. It was the only one in the area, and around the time of the harvest festival, it was decorated and presented with many flowers and fine pieces of produce. Horst found the behavior quaint. Still he thought there may be people there who hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting him. So, he made his way down to the forest edge.

The shrine was a small thing, just a little pine-wood structure no bigger than a basket for harvesting tree fruits. Inside was a small humanoid statue--whether old deity or symbolic of something, Horst wasn’t sure.

In front of the shrine, between several of the offerings, sat three young women. They spoke quietly with each other, each one with flowers braided into their hair.

With a swagger in his step, the entertainer marched towards the shrine and the women, chest puffed out.

“A good and fine evening to you lovely ladies,” he called out. “Why do you hang around this area when the harvest festivities are soon to begin? And with such excellent entertainers as myself to serenade you through the night?”

“Oh!” The women turned to look at him, the one who made a surprised sound saying, “Hello sir. We are, we are offering our conversation and prayers here. Worship at the shrine has always provided us a good harvest.”

“And how very noble of you,” said Horst. His smile grew wider as the women stood up, brushing off their beautiful dresses. “But, if I may say, you will miss the fun of the harvest!”

“The fun?” one muttered, twisting her fingers in another’s dress.

“Of course! Food, drink, entertainment from yours truly.” Horst wiggled his brows, encouraged by the small giggle one let out.

“And we will,” said the tallest one, the first who spoke. “But this is important.”

“Oh yes, I’m quite certain it is. And again, it is quite kind and selfless of you to do so. The town is blessed to have such charitable young ladies as yourselves. Especially ones so beautiful.” He winked, getting two blushes in turn. “Even so, it is time for celebration now, is it not? The harvest is done, and it is time for young ladies--and men--to be enjoying themselves, dancing and singing together!”

The shy one, still looking down at the ground said, “But- We haven’t… We still need to…”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait. You have been working hard, I can tell, but you wouldn’t want such delicate flowers to wilt away before they are seen, would you? That would be a true shame.”

While he gestured to their complex braids, he made sure to keep his wording ambiguous. And sure enough, Giggles gave him a pleased smile as she reached up to pat her hair. She looked towards the tallest one, eyes clearly pleading, but the young woman appeared torn.

“Still, every year we do this. It _is_ important…”

“And it will still be here at the end of the night, and for many nights to come, I’m certain.” Horst swept his arm out behind him, back towards the town. “Now, won’t you let me escort you lovely ladies back to town? It’s getting close to the time to begin.”

The shy one shook her head, and the tallest said, “No, sir, thank you. We will make our way just fine.”

The three women began to walk to town. While two of them studiously avoided his gaze, Giggles looked at him as they passed. Horst felt no shame in posing himself for her eyes, self-assurance in his looks bringing him to wink at her. Pressing a hand to her still grinning lips, she let loose another few tinkling laughs. Ah, that one he would have to keep an eye on. Energy flowing through him and a spring in his step, he made to follow. At least, he thought he did, because the directions around him suddenly felt… wrong.

He had to place his arms out to stop from falling to the ground. While illness was no stranger to him, nor the disorienting effects of alcohol, it didn’t seem like either of them. Rather, it felt like the world itself was shifting.

And when his vision went temporarily black, he thought it had.

Only a heartbeat later, the world resolved itself. Horst placed one hand to his chest, letting out a sigh of relief, and straightened up to look around.

It was a castle, or so was his first conclusion. Though he had played in but a handful, he remembered the enduring, extravagantly decorated halls well, and this dining hall was certainly lavish.

Several large tables were spread about it, but with plenty of room between them for wandering guests, servers, and minstrels. There was lots of lighting via a stunning amount of candles and some last rays of warm autumn sunlight through slim windows, and decorative carvings and metal working of leaves over the walls. Horst was impressed. And confused. Where was he? How had he arrived?

“Surely I didn’t forget the whole week of the festival,” he wondered aloud. That would be a true shame. He had also promised himself he wouldn’t drink that much, since he would need many of his faculties for plying his craft.

“You have not,” said a voice in his ear.

Horst jumped and whirled around, only to be met with brushstroke-perfect eyes crinkled mischievously. Once they took a step back, it became clear that before Horst stood a beautiful woman. She wore an embroidered green dress and had her hair plaited in the same style as the three he met in front of the shrine. 

Something in the way she held herself spoke of confidence and power, things which Horst prided himself in noticing, as it usually boded well for him.

“Ah, forgive me,” he said, sketching a short bow before pulling to his full height, hands on his hips. “I did not expect to end up in the home of such a lovely young lady. I didn’t pass out during the nights’ festivities, did I?” He laughed to himself. “I thank you for bringing me here. If it’s not too late, perhaps we can go join the festivities once again? I could accompany you. I’m sure such a beautiful-”

“Stop.” The woman was looking far less pleased than before, her mouth stretched into a line. She sighed, and Horst resolved to solve the issue quickly. He had many important things to be doing.

“You are quite beautiful though.”

“I know.”

The casual answer threw Horst off. It was not the response he usually received. Perhaps the woman was so well off and beloved she was used to flattery?

“Well,” he said, trying to regain his verbal footing, “I have a festival to be at, if too much hasn’t passed. It wouldn’t be the same without me there.”

The woman rubbed at her forehead. “No. I brought you here bec-”

“You did?” Horst furrowed his brows, feeling much less charitable. “I appreciate your admiration for me, but I have too many important things to be doing for-”

“Enough,” the woman hissed, waving her hand. 

Something--a vine?--wrapped around the entertainer’s mouth, and he startled. Tugging at it did nothing, and he couldn’t get out any words, muffled as they were behind immovable lips. Fear and anger warred in his heart, the fluttering mixing with the furious blush rising up his neck. How dare she do this? To such an important minstrel, at that! But what she did, it could only be magic, and he didn’t know of any magic users in the area. They often congregated in the courts of large cities, for the prestige and desire for their rare talents. This woman was too odd. ...A witch, maybe?

She waved her hand at the nearest table, and suddenly a feast was laid before his eyes. Definitely a witch then.

“I brought you here,” she said, “Because you are a self-important braggart. Now, normally that is none of my business, but I will not have you taking attention away from the important aspects of the harvest festival in this area. The celebrations all have meaning, and they keep the land’s magic in balance, helping the villagers with their crops, yes, but so much more than that.” Her determined glare bored into him. “I will not allow the selfish desires of one man distract from that.”

Horst narrowed his eyes, trying to remove the vine or move away from it, but he could do neither.

“You shall pick from these foods. Choose one to consume, consume it all, and deal with the consequences. That is the punishment I bestow upon you. Or, rather, it is one you shall choose to take upon yourself.”

The vine unwrapped then, as Horst contemplated the table. It was stocked well, with cranberry scones drizzled in honey, tomatoes stuffed with cuts of beef and cheese, thick cream soups, and steaming, flakey biscuits with slabs of butter. It was all rather impressive, and the entertainer hated it. She was trying to intimidate him--but he could do one better. 

With a smirk, he said, “Very well, witch. Then I shall play your little game.” _And win._

The witch rolled her eyes and merely said, “Go on, then. Choose.”

Horst walked to the table, contemplated for a bit longer, and chose what his gut instinct told him. He picked up a well-spun glass full of smooth eggnog, raising it in the witch’s direction in the mockery of a toast.

The witch only nodded, and waited.

It was not the reaction Horst was hoping for, so he toasted himself. “Bottoms up.” It took only a few well-timed gulps to empty the glass, and the creamy drink settled well into his stomach.

One glass down.

“Continue,” said the witch.

Ah, yes. There were a few glasses of the nog scattered about the long table. So he must drink them all. Horst didn’t think the witch would do something so mundane as poisoning when she had magic at her disposal, so perhaps she only hoped to make him feel ill at the amount? Horst was up to the challenge. He had a strong stomach, and a stronger will.

Three glasses down.

Glass after glass he drank down, making sure to take them slower so that he would not cause himself discomfort. He rubbed at his stomach to help with that, noticing it was already pushing out with the amounts he was drinking.

But he did not stop. Could not.

Six glasses down.

Discomfort came sooner than he thought, with the feeling of his pants being too tight. He didn’t believe he drank enough to constitute a full meal, but maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention? The glasses could not hold that much of the eggnog. Still, he pushed his pants down just a bit to lessen the tension on his stomach. He ignored the way the pants caught on his hips; He didn’t want them any further down anyway. But they just didn’t fit the way Horst remembered, catching on his hips and thighs until he resolved to ignore them--there was a challenge to be won.

Each glass of eggnog was just as creamy as the last, the cinnamon sweet drink going down smooth every time. They almost felt like compliments and the shine of being the spotlight in a conversation. It even helped him ignore some strange pinching sensation he felt at the end of his spine.

Ten glasses down.

He wondered how many glasses there were of the drink. As much as he was enjoying it--and the taste actually seemed to get better with each sip--he had to be getting close to the end. A true party was waiting for him at the end of his victory.

A glance over at the witch didn’t tell him much. There was a challenge in her stare as he moved around the table, a mischievous quirk to her lips, but over all, she seemed content to let Horst complete the task on his own. Some punishment. He adjusted his pants again, feeling more wiggle than he remembered, and continued on. At least the pinching had stopped.

Thirteen glasses down.

He rubbed at his stomach, groaning a bit at the fine belly he’d gotten. It was more than he’d expected from only drinking eggnog--he’d not even had that much yet. Still, he didn’t want to quit, and his stomach was uncomfortable in the way it stretched, so he rubbed it. He even reached under his tunic to directly caress the skin.

Actually, he thought as he downed another glass, should a person be able to hold that much without hurting themselves? His stomach was about the size of a small handbasket, and it took him a moment to remember that wasn’t normal.

What did the witch hope to accomplish? Did she think Horst so easily discouraged that such a punishment of his figure would make him give up? He would show her.

Determination flared even as he felt a pinching on either side of his head.

Seventeen glasses down.

He was so close; Horst could feel it. There had to be only twenty glasses. Then he would tell the witch to undo her changes, thanks to his victory, and he would gather the attention of the town as the best entertainer they had ever seen.

He smiled to himself as he sucked down a glass. Yes, a lovely picture. He shook his head a bit as he set the glass down. It felt… funny. Strange. Like a fuzzy feeling in his head. But not in the way he felt after alcohol consumption. The next glass did not change the feeling. It was like, like something brushed against his ears, but also changed the way he heard things, like something was hanging in front of them. As he held his head back to down one more glass, he felt the funny feeling of something brushing the bottom, er, tops of his ears.

Twenty glasses down.

But wait, there, another just a few feet away. How had he missed it? Wasn’t that where he started? Scratching at his head, he felt two bumps there. In confusion, and with a healthy amount of trepidation now making his hands shake, he patted down the strange shapes. They were hard, about two inches long, with a rounded point near the top. They- they couldn’t be-!

But his panic over whether he’d grown horns was cut short when he brushed against something silky soft sticking out from the sides of his head. And he felt it on his ears. But they shouldn’t be that far from his head. Probing from his fingers confirmed it though--his ears now stuck out like an animal’s, elongated and curved to catch sounds around him the way prey animals’ were.

Horst had to calm his breathing. He looked down at his hands, noticing what he’d missed earlier when he’d been so focused on the drink, only rubbing his belly: his hips had expanded as well, straining against his pants. Even his ass had gotten bigger, as he soon saw while turning around. And while he couldn’t say it didn’t look good on him, he had not tried for those changes himself. And what was that weird lump at the base of his spine-? Wait. She hadn’t! She couldn’t have given him a tail!

Involuntarily, he looked up at the witch. She hadn’t moved, but the palm she had placed to her face leant her the air of a questioning head tilt. _“What are you waiting for?”_ she seemed to be asking.

Horst’s fists clenched. Alright, so twenty wasn’t the end, the challenge was rigged and humiliating. So what? He could do it.

He walked to the next place and downed another glass, glad for the sweet feeling of praise he could taste. It felt like his future was cheering him on and giving him a reason to carry on. And so he did, for several more glasses, trying to ignore the way his clothes were fitting and the movement of his new additions.

Twenty-three glasses down.

It was only the way his shirt was pulling uncomfortably which made him stop in the middle of a glass. As he looked down to find the problem, he watched as, before his very eyes, breasts began blooming, burgeoning beneath his tunic into little mounds placed upon his once very flat chest.

Horst’s hands went limp in shock, the glass slipping from his fingers to spill the rest of its contents all over the table.

“W-what?” he cried out. “No, w- Unacceptable!”

The witch hummed, seeming unconcerned.

“I-” Horst touched around the--his?--breasts, uncomfortable by how naturally they had grown. “I demand you end the challenge. Immediately!”

“No.” That one word echoed through the banquet hall, ringing in Horst’s floppy ears, too.

“W- Yes! What do you mean no? I didn’t accept this!”

“You did. And it is a punishment you must see through to the end. Must I assist you?”

“Assist with what? I refuse to continue any longer, and furthermore- oof!” Vines snuck up in Horst and wrapped around his torso, pushing the wind out of him. Between one blink and the next, his arms were held above his head, twisted in the vines which held around his torso and even circled his legs before anchoring to the floor, keeping him firmly in place.

“Stopping halfway through would only make things worse. So,” she sighed out, pulling an object from her sleeves, “I shall help you finish.”

“No!” screamed the entertainer-turned-joke. “No, I won’t finish! This is an disgusting attack on me, you witch, and I will not- Mmf!”

His mouth was stuffed with a cushioned object then, one which Horst had only gotten a glance of, but he was certain it was vaguely cone shaped. Luckily it was the narrow end in his mouth, but it was enlarged on its other end so that his lips were held wide apart. He breathed in and out, trying to control the sudden flutters of fear. At least he could easily breathe through it. Wait.

Horst’s eyes widened as he came to the conclusion of what the object was to be used for, and he struggled. His body couldn’t move in the strong grip of the vines, and he couldn’t spit out the obvious funnel in his mouth.

Then the witch approached, a large crystal pitcher of the eggnog in hand. “Here we go, remember to breathe.”

And she tipped it.

Nog poured in a small stream down the funnel, but with no way to spit it back out, Horst was forced to swallow. Unless he wanted to choke on it, which he did not. Breathe, swallow, breathe, swallow. It became a rhythm he was able to ignore after the first several, unwilling gulps; Unfortunately, it gave him the mind to feel what changes were going on with his body.

With each mouthful forced down his throat, he felt his tunic become tighter. It was already pushing up because of his nog-filled belly, but now his breasts were growing too. Each one pressed against the cloth, feeling tighter and rounder as they grew to the size of large apples.

Horst found that, unfortunately for his pride, they were sensitive too.

The little jolts of pleasure he got from his nipples rubbing against his tunic were embarrassingly pleasant. He whined in dismay as he felt himself blush up the back of his neck to his ears.

Soon, the rest of his body felt confined as well. His sleeves and pant legs were growing too tight on him, though Horst realized it was actually the rest of his body plumping out as well. Seams creaked more ferociously as he flexed his arms, and his pants made distressing popping sounds along the side of his thighs as they rubbed together.

He didn’t want anymore. No matter how oddly good it felt, he couldn’t just pop out of his clothes; How would he perform?

But it seemed it was not his decision to make.

As his thighs grew and strained his pants, so too did his hips and butt begin growing again. His pants were tight all over, seams making ripping sounds as his flesh surged against them. Horst couldn’t help wiggling his legs, trying to escape the tightness of his pants but also settle within them once more. Only one of his desires would come true.

With two more gulps and a few more crackling sounds, his pants gave up the fight. Seams burst, and his thick thighs and fat butt came surging out, mercilessly shoving the last bits of cloth from his hips to pool onto the floor at his feet. His tail, apparently, was also freed, and he felt it swing agitatedly back and forth, brushing against his bubbly butt.

The only thing left to cover his crotch was a simple pair of underpants, which, while strained, did not cover much of his new, pumpkin-sized butt cheeks, and thus held on. 

Horst grunted in protest, even as he was forced to swallow more. How much would the witch force upon him? What other indignities must he face for her punishment? At least another lost piece of clothing, if the multiple rips from his tunic told him anything. Wriggling in the hold the vine had on him did not do much--as it had reinstated it’s hold on his legs too, once his pants fell--but at least his tunic pulled up and released his belly, rather than ripping further.

A few moments later, he was even more glad, since he felt the pull of little fat rolls forming over and around his food paunch. Those would have ripped his tunic for certain, had it not moved.

Though it was not completely safe, as Horst found out when his arms and back grew more plush, ripping almost all the way to the ends of his sleeves. He almost growled in frustration; the effectiveness was cut by his need to catch breaths between his gulps of eggnog. Hot shame curled deep in him, especially at his sounds. He felt like an animal, a disgusting slob unwilling to stop eating when any food was presented.

He would have continued on his sudden and unwelcome self-loathing, but the witch’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Almost there. Last bit of nog, and you should feel better.”

Horst didn’t know about that, but he clung to the idea of an ending. Even just considering being finished was enough to place a calming fog in his mind, like the feeling a small child got when a blanket was placed over them. He could have laughed in relief, was his mouth not busy.

Of course, his relief didn’t last long--his breasts started growing next.

Even in all the commotion, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about them. They had slowed their growth, but were still the size of a plump pomelo, just a little too much to hold in his hands. A squeak escaped him, and he almost choked on his next mouthful of nog. All of a sudden, he wished he had his throat back, not to laugh, but to scream. The way they tingled as they grew did not help, as the zings of pleasure made him struggle more, which in turn only made his sensitive breasts rub his tunic more.

Then they got heavy. Each new trickle of nog seemed to divert straight into his breasts, because they sank down, heavier and heavier, even as they continued to swell in size.

Soon, the sloshing orbs were cabbage sized. And they were filled, Horst was sure, with eggnog, as each jiggle caused by his movement felt like it was expanded and rebounded within the bloated things. It was like a tiny sea in there. He strangled a hysterical laugh by swallowing.

A few moments later, with a loud _rriiip_ , his tunic split right down the middle.

His large breasts surged out, but barely bounced, heavy as they were with… well, probably eggnog more than fat. Still, they made an impressive sight, pushing up with deep cleavage between the tattered pieces of his clothing. Even the witch herself hummed at the sight. Then she poked at one.

Horst writhed at the touch, his head going fuzzy at the sheer shock which traveled his spine. It- It felt good. Too good. He couldn’t like it, he couldn’t! But his body disagreed.

His thick thighs touching suddenly seemed erotic, with skin rubbing against skin, and the flesh enticing the dick almost trapped between them. His tail swished faster, tickling his bubble butt and making him almost dance in place. His stomach gurgled with the nog already inside, jiggling along with his butt as he twisted back and forth. Despite his pleasure, or perhaps because of it, he felt himself blushing again. This time though, the heat and embarrassed tingle ran down his face to his breasts as well. Looking at them--which he could apparently do even without removing the funnel, thanks to their enormous and ever growing size--they had flushed the prettiest pink, all the way to the nipples.

Horst blinked, then blinked again. Yes, those were his nipples now peeking out from his ruined tunic. The cloth was barely curved around the outside of his breasts now, sitting limp atop his food belly. And slowly revealing themselves within the cleft cloth were his nipples--two hard buds the size of his thumbs.

He groaned, long and loud, as he let the next mouthful of nog build up. The cool air on his breasts was doing nothing to calm him; In fact, the sparks of bliss were only increased by the change in temperature.

Horst only regretted that it meant a loss of stimulation from the smooth texture of his tunic. Wait, no he didn’t. Did he?

Trying to think past the stimulation all over his body was difficult. Thinking harder meant he twitched his ears to try and catch more sounds, but he wasn’t sure what he was listening for. It was just him and the witch there. What was he doing there?

A small drip hit his thighs, and he was shaken out of his thoughts. Rubbing his legs together again revealed that his dick had begun to harden--that meant the wetness was probably precum.

Horst sighed, a high pitched thing which he felt conveyed his desire. Ohhh, he needed to touch himself. His dick was already starting to weep, but he couldn’t do more than sway back and forth, teasing himself.

At least the nog tasted good, the delicate flavor of admiration mixing with heady pride and nutmeg. He sipped and sipped, wondering when he would be allowed to finally come.

As he thought it, he swallowed a large mouthful of the creamy drink--he waited for more, but it didn’t come. At the same time, the vines let go. Horst stumbled as he properly held his weight; there was so much more of him than he was used to, and everywhere on his body seemed to be rubbing against another part of him. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he watched, dumbfounded, as the witch carefully removed the funnel.

“There we go,” she said. “Just a few moments more and I think we’ll be done here.”

Done? Horst thought hard, but the only thought he could grasp through the fog was that he was hard. He stretched a hand down, finding the plump flesh of his thighs before ghosting across his dick. He moaned, even just at the light touch. Had he ever been so sensitive? He wasn’t sure.

As if subconsciously avoiding stimulating himself too much, his hands traveled up, exploring his new body. He ran his hands up and around his wide hips, and squeezed at his fat ass. 

It was a nice feeling. He enjoyed the way his body still tingled all over, his arousal making it so, so good.

Moving up, he touched his tail. It was a little thing, about the length of his hand, not counting the soft hairs at the end. It didn’t even make it over the rounded part of his cheeks, stuck swishing back and forth across the tops. He giggled at the tiny thing; The brush-like end tickled.

His hands wandered further, feeling his soft, doughy stomach. It was pleasant to touch and pleasant to feel, so he rubbed up and down, back and forth, enjoying the tiny gurgles inside.

A bit curious, Horst moved one hand up for a moment, touching the hard nubs on his head which acted as horns. They didn’t feel like anything. His ears were soft though, softer than his stomach, like silk. They were also ticklish--on the inside at least--so he giggled at them and left them alone.

Then he reached his breasts.

Oh, they were so large, and so heavy. His stomach was not enough to hold them--even his tunic didn’t do anything anymore, so he removed it. His breasts flopped down, laded with their extra fat and--eggnog?--liquid inside. Curiosity roused, Horst moved his arms up under his breasts, trying to hold them, and reached his hands for his nipples.

They were long and thick, pink as an excited cock, and about as hard and sensitive as one too. He gasped as he touched them, feeling himself leak at the jolts running straight from his nipples to the core of his being. Oohh, how lovely.

He fondled them, gently, and delighted at the way his body bounced with his movements, the fullness to him. Even more than that, he loved the feel of his excitement dripping onto his stomach and down his breasts. Wait.

Horst opened his eyes from where he had apparently closed them, and looked down again. It wasn’t just his cock dripping. 

From where he tugged at his nipples, little trickles of a white substance leaked out, beading as he let go. He held up a couple of his wet fingers to his mouth and tasted them. Eggnog. He looked down at his breasts. The nipples were beading still, trying to let out more nog; Wet trails curved down his breasts to his stomach, where it mixed with his precum from his _very_ interested cock. Horst giggled. He reached for his breasts again, fondling them and squeezing, loving the feel of nog squirting out.

“All finished then.” Horst had forgotten about the witch. Though… was it mean to call her that? “You’ll be like this for the rest of the festival. As much as I’m sure you wished to entertain, I assure you you shall still be doing so. Just… in a way which does not distract from the purpose of the celebration and rituals.”

“Mmm,” Horst groaned. He moved one hand slowly down his stomach while the other pinched and pulled his nipples in succession. “Okay… hahhh…!”

“You’ll certainly be the center of attention,” the witch muttered. “But rather than taking all focus, absorbing the awe of those involved, you will offer it. Offer yourself as a bounty for the people, for all of their hard work. A thanks for their devotion to the land.”

“Offer- hah, hah, myself-?” Horst slid his hand up and down his dick, his whole body warming in response. He felt so wonderfully messy with all the liquid sliding down his hands.

“Yes.” The witch sounded resigned. “A gift from me. Though I expect some people will simply be glad not to have their conversations hogged.”

Something tight wound up in Horst, and he knew what it meant. He pumped faster, rubbed his tiny head, and breathed harder. He found himself sinking down to the ground on his knees so that he could hold his weight easier, as he was shaking all over, his new flesh wobbling with him.

Then, with an explosion of light behind his eyes, he came. Cum spilled out over his hand and across the floor; His breasts tightened as well before squirting several times in succession, drenching his torso and legs in thick nog. Horst cried out, gasping and lowing as his orgasm continued on far longer than usual. His whole body felt like it was releasing a deep tension, welcoming in a warm, sensual embrace instead.

When he finally came down, his skin was flushed all over, drying nog and cum splattered across him. Horst absently licked some off his fingers, then--after noticing the salty taste--realized it was cum.

He shrugged and finished cleaning the hand, glad there was sweet nog to balance it out.

A sigh came from above him. It was the witch. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Horst was clean. He also sighed--though it was easier than cleaning himself, at least. He stood up.

“It’s time for you to leave,” said the witch.

“Leave?” A small niggle of fear whispered in his mind, and he realized he would be going back to the town he’d left. Naked. With eggnog filled breasts as an ‘offered bounty.’ 

He tried to think of what that meant, but the only thing his mind conjured up was an image of townspeople sucking on his teats. His body shivered at that, mostly in anticipation with a hint of shame.

“Yes. And as a warning, this is only meant to last through the week of the harvest festival. But should you continue to brag and be self-centered at the next harvest festival, or the next, and turn people away from their important rituals, this bounty will return. And you will offer it another week. This applies to each year, from here on.” The witch placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Do you understand that? Your punishment?”

Dazed, Horst nodded.

It would leave? It would come back? These breasts and ass? The pudgy fat? The heavy cream filling the breasts and bubbling out the large teats?

What scared him most was that he wasn’t sure whether to be more afraid of them leaving or coming back.

He didn't get time to ponder though, as the world went sideways, sending him stumbling. As he caught his balance, he noticed there was cloth around his hips. It wasn’t much, just a comfortably fitting pair of underpants with extra cloth in the front and back, hanging down to cover his crotch and most of his buttcheeks. The rest of him was still stark naked.

A little worry started to take root in his gut, but the sound of celebration reached him, and all of his attention immediately focused in on it.

He was next to the shrine by the woods, where he’d left from. The sun had sunk down further, and many lanterns were lit at the nearby village--a beacon and invitation. It was one Horst happily followed.

All other thoughts swept from his mind, he couldn’t wait to be a part of the festivities.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that brought you some joy today. Keep safe!


End file.
